Archive of Our Own

Sometimes the best way to remain sane is to love like crazy. Everything, everywhere and everyone.

Sansa scoffs as she walks through the grey streets of Winterfell. Locking her phone, she strongly disagrees with this e-mail from The Universe. She has been receiving daily messages from it for years now and if she had read that sentence at the beginning of her 20s, she would think that The Universe couldn’t be more right. But now, at 25, she knows that it’s not that simple to love like crazy. To love everything so intensely that you’re scared that your emotions might blow up at any moment. 

She’d known this kind of love. It simply does not work. 

She also knows that it only happens one time and that in your life, you’ll find different types of passion. But love, like that, only happens once. It’s not that she doesn’t believe in love anymore - she does, of course she does, but Sansa has come to accept that love might be just simple, not consuming. 

That’s what she tells herself, day after day, trying to convince her mind that she loves Harry. He’s kind and good to her, probably would be a nice husband. Asking for time to think as he proposed was a mistake that led to a strange break-up. A huge mistake. 

(It wasn’t.)

Even after years, Winterfell remains the same. Sansa’s hadn’t put her feet in the city in years. The memories of times that are no longer hurt too much, so she decided to apply for Universities in the South. She’s been living in King’s Landing, the complete opposite of her hometown, ever since. 

But it’s Arya’s birthday and for once she decided to throw a party to gather all the people she loves the most, all in one place. And of course it would be in Winterfell. Which means that tomorrow she will breathe the same air as Jon Snow, but it’s fine. It’s totally fine. 

(It isn't.) 

It’s not like they had any bad blood, and that’s what makes it even more difficult. Sansa said goodbye when she wanted to stay. But Jon needed freedom, and she wanted stability. So she went to KLU, she got her masters. She was a teacher. A great teacher. Jon decided to hit the road, trying to find meaning in life or some other emo bullshit. Sansa had heard whispers that he stayed at The Wall for quite some time. As for nowadays, she really doesn’t know what to expect. 

She doesn’t know him at all. 

Taking a deep breath, she knocks two times at Arya’s door. Her little sister lives with Gendry, who’s become a close friend. Sansa is not sure if close friends kiss and have sex, but that is how Arya describes the relationship, and Sansa knows better than to push her. When she feels comfortable enough to share, then Sansa will gladly mock her, saying that everybody already knew that they were together. 

“Hello!” Arya greets, her brown hair a complete mess. She is totally puffy, and yet still wears a smile on her face as her eyes lighten up at the sight of Sansa. “Oh, I’ve missed you!” 

Sansa is caught off guard at such a demonstration of affection. Arya wouldn’t normally do this, but she is glad to open her slender arms to hug her sister. “I’ve missed you too, little sister.” 

“Alright, that is enough,” Arya shrugs off the embrace, but keeps smiling, and steps aside to let Sansa in. Nymeria quickly appears, swinging her tail and whining at the new visitor. Sansa gets down on her level and scratches the back of her ear. “Finals and PMS. That is why,” she explains her state of mind as if she already knew that Sansa thought she was acting strange. 

“You’ll do great,” Sansa tries to give her some assurance as she leaves her suitcase by the couch. “Where’s Gendry?” 

She can’t help but grin at the mention of his name. It’s silly and childish, she knows, but then again-- Arya is her little sister. It’s actually Sansa’s job to tease and irritate her. 

“Don’t start,” she rolls her eyes out of annoyance. “He’s inside of his room. Studying. For finals.” 

“I see,” Sansa sighs, scanning the room quickly. The dining table was covered in papers and books, and pencils could be found on the floor. Her living room was a mess. She suppresses a laugh, then fearlessly throws herself on the couch. Sansa already knew it was comfy because the furniture had been part of their childhood home. “Just go back there. Don’t mind me. I could use a nap,” she puts her hand over her mouth to cover a yawn. “It’s a long flight from King’s Landing.” 

“I love that you’ve already made yourself comfortable,” Arya says, and there’s an unusual gentleness in her voice, and Sansa knows that there’s a but coming, so she opens her eyes and stares at her sister. “But I was actually going to ask you for a favour…” 

Sansa plays with the soft fabric of her cardigan. She was tired, but Arya seemed to be exhausted. She wasn’t going to deny her anything. “Of course. No need to be unsettled. Just shoot.” 

“Well,” her voice was still full of precaution, and suddenly Sansa didn’t like this very much. “Gendry was supposed to pick my birthday cake. There’s this place just around the corner that makes the most delicious cakes we’ve ever eaten. But he’s desperately trying to review some of our subjects and is kind of stuck, so I’m helping. If you could go there, it would be awesome.” 

“It’s okay, Arya,” Sansa gets up and walks towards her, putting her hands on Arya’s shoulder to offer her some comfort. “I know uni can be frightening, but I’m sure you both got it. Alright?” 

Arya’s face softens as the sound of a door handle being opened invades the room. Soon, Gendry appears at their field of vision. 

“Sansa! Hey!”, he says, looking rather surprised. He’s as puffy as Arya, and Sansa wonders if celebrating her birthday in the middle of finals was a great idea. He gives her a quick hug. “Nice to see you.” 

“It’s nice to see you too,” she smiles. “Arya’s just assigned me to mission birthday cake, so you can just relax and go back to study.” 

“Oh, thank the gods,” he lets out a sigh of relief. “She was really scared to ask you, because, you know…” 

Sansa turns to Arya, who is looking at everywhere but her. “I don’t know, actually.” 

“Well, this is awkward,” he shrugs, and Sansa knows that Arya could kill him with her own eyes. “It’s just that… the cake bakery is in Wintertown.” 

“What is wrong with that?” Sansa asks, furrowing her brows. “It’s not just around the corner, Arya’s always been a bit dramatic even if she denies it, but it’s close nonetheless. A 30-minute drive, max. I don’t see what’s the problem.” 

“There isn’t a problem,” Arya finally speaks, but her voice is low. “It’s just that Jon lives there now.” 

She can feel her cheeks burn as Gendry and Arya stare at her, face covered in concern. But this isn’t an issue. Wintertown is small, yes, but it’s not like it has only one street. The odds of seeing Jon before the party were small, to be quite honest. 

“It’s okay, actually,” Sansa starts. “We parted ways on good terms.” 

It’s not sincere, but it’s what she chooses to say after a moment to think. It was true that they parted ways on good terms, but it was not okay. She suffered for months, and as much as Robb and Arya told her countless times that Jon was having a hard time as well, Sansa could never bring herself to believe it. He seemed to be quite happy on his social media posts. Well, not his own, because he wasn’t really active, but Tormund’s and Sam’s. 

“Okay, then,” Arya has her pity look on her face and even Gendry stares at her quite uncertain. He does not say a thing, though. “I’ll bring you the keys to my car. But I am telling you: if you return her home with any scratch, and I mean it, any scratch, even if it’s tiny, I will know that it was you.” 

“Chill, little sister,” Sansa rolls her eyes, then puts a mischievous grin on her lips. “I’m not the one who failed the driver’s license test two times.” 

Gendry chuckles, much to Sansa’s own entertainment. 

“Fuck off, Sansa,” she storms out of the living room to the sound of Sansa and Gendry’s laugh. Arya quickly returns, brows furrowed and stressed. Fuming, she throws the keys in the air for Sansa. “There you go.” 

After raising her hand to pick the keys flying through the air, Sansa says, “Does she have a name?” 

“Yes,” Gendry answers. “It’s She Wolf.” 

The drive to Wintertown went down smoothly. There wasn’t much traffic, and Sansa could drive with the windows down, feeling the cool air of the North on her skin as she sang her favourite songs out loud. It was sweet, the taste of freedom. Even beneath the cloudy sky, the air was fresh. Sansa always liked driving; she thinks it’s the best thing to do when you need to think. There was just something calming about feeling the wind in your hair and the sense of where you’re going, even if you’re lost inside. 

She arrives at the bakery early and has to wait a bit inside to pick up the cake. The room wasn’t very large, but big enough to make it cosy with rounded tables and cute, colourful chairs. The place makes you feel like you’re home, and Sansa likes it very much, especially the scent of cinnamon and fresh lemons.

The rain had just started to drop as Sansa heard the sweet old lady call her. The cake was ready and was beautifully packed. It was simple, nothing more than a good old chocolate cake, but it looked delicious. Now Sansa could understand why the hell Arya wanted this specific cake. 

Just when she was struggling to pull the exit door, somebody pushed it open for her. She couldn’t see his face, as it was hidden beneath a black hoodie, but she could tell that it was a man. 

“Thank you,” Sansa appreciates the favour. “It seems like one cannot carry a cake and open a door.” 

“No worries,” the man replies, finally raising his head to meet her eyes. Not that he needed to do that, for she would recognize that voice from miles away. Sansa gasps then, surprised to see him because yes, Wintertown was small, but really, what were the odds to find her ex-boyfriend-possibly-soulmate that she’s been preparing to meet for weeks? 

Except she wasn’t supposed to see him now. She’s was supposed to see him tomorrow, at Arya’s birthday party, along with many other people she could rely on to avoid him. 

She wasn’t supposed to meet him alone, on a rainy afternoon, outside of a bakery in Wintertown. 

“Sansa?” , Jon seems to be realizing that she was she only now. Sansa almost laughs. 

“Yes, that’s still me,” she smiles nervously, putting a string of her red hair behind her ear. “I quite like it, you know, so I wouldn’t change it.” 

She jokes to lighten the mood, because this was Jon, and Jon would get her sense of humour. 

“Aye,” he chuckles softly, then proceeds to say in his northern accent, the one she seems to have lost, “I like it too. It’s good to see you, Sansa.” 

“It’s good to see you too, Jon,” she answers and it’s true. She means it; it’s good to see him. It’s always been. 

A raindrop falls on her shoulder, followed by other million. She looks up and realizes that there’s a hole in the awning. It was pouring now, and she probably will take twice as long to get back to Arya’s. 

“Are you leaving?” Jon asks, eyeing the cake, the rain and then her face again. “It’s pouring rain.” 

She shrugs. “I like driving when it’s raining.”

“You like driving,” he says with a smirk. He remembers. Of course, he does. “But it would be reckless to drive back to Winterfell right now.” 

“I drive slow when it rains,” she raises a brow and tries to explain. “I’m careful.” 

“I know that you are,” he agrees, moving to his left so she can have more room underneath the awning entrance. “Still dangerous.” 

“You’re not going to let me leave, are you?” 

He smiles widely now, and Sansa feels her heart skip a beat. He was too pretty for his own good. It was not fair. 

“You know me too well,” he agrees, and she fights the urge to roll her eyes. “Come on, let’s grab a coffee and catch up. They have amazing cappuccino.” 

Jon walks towards the door and opens it, his hand gesturing for Sansa to go back inside. With a sigh, she slides in, instantly thanking the Gods for the warmth. He follows her not long after, choosing a table hidden in the corner. The cashier greets him cheerfully, to which Jon corresponds. 

“You come here very often?” Sansa asks as they sit, trying to wave off the awkwardness. Jon seems to be taking this encounter much easier than she is. He smirks, and her eyes grow wide. “Don’t be silly! You know what I mean!”

“I didn’t say anything,” his tone is even as he speaks, hanging his arms up in surrender. He was about to say another thing when a waitress approaches them. Sansa recognizes her from Sam’s Instagram, but she would never say it. “Hey, Gilly. I thought today was your day off.” 

The girl smiles, then shrugs. “We’re needing extra cash to do a few repairs on the house. Anyway, here’s the menu,” Gilly offers it to Sansa. “Jon always orders the same thing.” 

“Black with vanilla and whipped cream?” Sansa guesses and Gilly chuckles, happily nodding her head, a high-pitched Exactly! coming out of her mouth. Sansa joins her in laughter as Jon watches them with amused eyes. “Well, some people really are basic,” she teases, taking a look at the menu. “I’ll have a cappuccino and a slice of lemon cake, please.” 

Gilly writes her order down, then leaves with a smile on her lips. When she’s out of the hearing zone, Jon leans in, whispering, “Lemon cakes, really? And I’m basic?” 

“I can’t help it,” she pouts, thinking that he is close, so close that she can see that the scar above his eye got smaller. “They’re too delicious.”

“So,” he starts, changing the subject. “What’ve you been up to?” 

“Teaching,” her lips form a smile when she says. She loves her job very much. “And to be honest, I’m pretty good at it.” 

“I’m sure you are,” he is gentle, and she missed him and his grey eyes. There’s no point in denying that anymore. “What do you teach?”

“History. Kids love it,” she giggles, shaking her head as if she’s remembering something. “Teens, not so much.” 

“At least it’s not geography,” he debunks, suppressing a laugh.  

“I cannot believe you went there,” she shakes her head in disbelief. “Too soon, Jon. Too soon.” 

“Too soon? It’s been 10 years since we failed geography, Sansa.” 

“I don’t like to remember it!”, she exclaims as Jon laughs at her dramatic reaction. “It’s embarrassing.” 

“It’s gold, actually,” he keeps mocking her, and deep down Sansa enjoys it very much. “You were so worried about getting an F because of what your mother would think. But it really wasn’t that much of a deal, so what if you don’t know about Westeros’ air masses? I can’t even remember the subject of my test. Something about typical vegetation. Anyways, I don’t care.” 

“Speak for yourself,” Sansa hurries to deny his accusation. “I studied really hard to get an A at the final test.” 

“I’m just joking,” he smiles softly at her, his fingers crossed above his belly. “I remember studying with you all too well.”

“You are such a liar!” Sansa accuses as Gilly approaches. She leaves their orders quickly, without saying a word, and Sansa doesn’t even have time to say thank you. “You were only distracting me, that’s what I recall.” 

It was a vivid memory. Studying at her bedroom desk, books and notebooks spread across the wood-top, and Jon trailing kisses on her neck. 

“You needed to relax,” he has the audacity to say, and Sansa scoffs in incredulity. “You already were dominating those topics, but too anxious to realize it. Do you remember what happened next?” 

“We kissed for hours,” she shoots straight away. They had kissed on the chair, her bed, the floor. It’s hard to say that there’s a place in her childhood home that hadn’t witnessed her make-out sessions with Jon. “But you know what, I don’t blame us. We were horny teenagers.” 

“No,” Jon chuckles. “I mean, yes, but that’s not what I’m speaking of. After all the, uh, kissing… I asked you some questions about the matter of the test, and you answered them all correctly.” 

“Gods, yes! We did some sort of a trivia thing, right?” 

Jon nods, his eyes travelling to the past. “It was the very first day the study tradition started. This is a future memory: you will be the best student in your class. ” 

“We were so worried about our future,” Sansa says as she sips a drink out of her coffee. Jon has dreamy eyes, and she is sure that her own are mirroring his. There is one thing they don’t speak out loud: they never planned a future without the presence of one another. But, well, life happens. 

So it goes, and they keep reminiscing the good old times, when Jon would sneak in through her window to sleep with her, or when she would knock on Robb’s room to steal Jon from his sleepover because she wanted to cuddle. Times of when he and the rest of the Starks started taking fencing classes, but Sansa couldn’t hold a sword for her life and her siblings mocked her, but Jon gave her comfort. Of the joy they’d felt when they found the puppies, and searching tricks to teach them in her old computer. They remember when they realized they liked each other as more than friends, during that summer in White Harbor, and a few days later, when Jon finally asked Sansa on a date with Arya’s help; when they had their first kiss, just underneath the Weirwood Tree in Winterfell’s park, and how the loss of virginity had been a strange - and now funny - experience. 

They talk about the times when they were each other’s first, and thought they would be each other’s last. 

One thing they don’t speak of, is when everything started to fall apart. Sansa still to these days isn’t sure the moment when their paths decided to move in different directions. She wonders if Jon thinks about what could’ve been if they had stick together. 

“Did you find it? What you were looking for?” the air shifts as he walks away from the nostalgic feeling they were sharing, and any person in the room could smell the tension between them.

(No.) 

“In a way, yes,” she says instead, focusing on a tiny mole on his cheek, clearly avoiding his eyes. She couldn’t face his intense gaze. Taking a bite of her lemon cake, she continues once she’s swallowed, “I went to uni. I graduated. I have a nice job and a house that I love.” 

“Then I’m happy for you,” he places his hand above of hers above the table, and he’s warm when she’s cold and that means she will always melt for him. She squeezes his hand, finally staring at his eyes. “Only need to start a family to tick all those boxes from when we were young.”

“You remember everything,” she whispers, because she barely believes it that she’s left a strong mark, like a tattoo, on his skin as well. 

“Of course I do,” he quirks his brow, pressing his pouty mouth in a thin line. When he speaks again, his lips go from white to light pink. She’s not meant to notice it, but she does anyway. “You were my first love. It was special, what we had,” Jon shrugs as if he’s only stating facts. “Hard to forget.” 

His confession surprises her. Jon is not the one to talk much. Back then, he had trouble talking about his emotions, maybe because of his turbulent relationship with his family, so the fact that he just easily says that, takes her off guard. His walls are down, and she wants to know more about this Jon. 

“Yeah, it was special,” she agrees, letting go of his hand to eat more of the cake. Humming in approval, Sansa asks, “What about you? Tell me your stories. You wanted to see the world.” 

“I haven’t seen the world. The North, yes. I travelled for almost two years, then decided to stay a bit at The Wall. I got married and everything. Didn’t work out.”

That was new. It hurts more than it should. Was she allowed to be jealous of a woman she didn’t even know? It wasn’t really fair; Sansa had a few relationships during these years as well. 

“I’m sorry. It must’ve been difficult going through a divorce,” she says the polite thing because that’s just who she is. 

“It’s okay,” he shrugs, his expression calm. “Guess it wasn’t meant to be. Anyway, then I started working as a firefighter here in Wintertown. It’s been almost 3 years.” 

“Jon Snow, always saving the day,” she smiles, because his occupation really fit him. “Is that why you were never present in the latest family reunions? You're always invited, but missed Christmas for as long as I can remember.” 

“Trust me, you’d be baffled to know what people do on Christmas Eve,” he answers vaguely. “But, yeah, unfortunately I’ve always been on duty.”

Sansa’s changed and Jon’s changed. But after all this time, she can still tell when he is lying. 

(Were you afraid of seeing me? I’ve been there a few times, too. This is why I pretty much ignored you since we broke up.) 

She doesn’t ask. She doesn’t say anything at all. 

In fact, she watches him finish his mug of coffee, takes a look outside and decides that it’s time to go. It’s too much, and she can’t melt for him anymore. 

“I should go,” she says, head pointing to the window. “The rain’s stopped.” 

He stares through the window. In reality, the rain hadn’t stopped fully, it was still drizzling, but Jon wouldn’t hold it against her. She moves to pick her wallet inside of her purse, but Jon stops her midway. 

“Please,” he tilts his head, furrowing his brow, and Sansa thinks that he looks young. “Let me.” 

“Okay,” she smiles, lightly tapping her fingers on the table. “But I’ll make sure Arya’s got your favourite ale. For tomorrow, I mean.” 

His lips twitch in a sweet smile, and his gaze is warm, and his eyes look like coming home. 

Except his orbs weren’t her home. Not anymore. 

(This was a terrible idea.)

“See you tomorrow,” she manages to whisper before storming out of the bakery. Walking fast to the car, Sansa scoffs when she sees the shiny and grey bodywork parked just down the street. Christening the car “She Wolf” seems more than appropriate for Arya. She wonders how many hours a day it takes to polish and keep it clean -- Arya could be messy, but her car was as impeccable as the floor of a luxury hotel. Whatever the reasons, Sansa was grateful. Cleaning is caring, and she’d rather process this encounter in a nice and tidy space. She already feels a storm inside. 

Sansa is about to close the door and take off when she hears that voice again. That hoarse, husky voice, shouting her name. She gets out of the car, pressing her back against it. Not the nicest action as the vehicle was extremely wet. 

“Wait!” he walks fast, nearly running -- she doesn’t see the reason. Grabbing the car door, she stares at him with a questioning look as he tries to regain his breath. “Just wanted to tell you that Pale Ales are my favourites.” 

“Okay,” she nods, still not understanding the need for him to rush just to tell her this. Arya would probably know, or even Gendry. But she smiles awkwardly still, “Noted.” 

He speaks again, “And that it’s still you, you know? At the end of the day, whenever I close my eyes, it’s you I see by my side.”

She frowns. 

Then it happens fast: her back against the cold surface of the car, his hands touching her waist, warming her body, his lips on her lips. They kiss all desperate and intense, as if they’ve been waiting for this for a long time, as if they need to kiss in order to stay alive. 

It doesn’t last long. 

Sansa pushes him, her hand palming his thick chest to keep him away. Because this wasn’t supposed to happen.

She shouldn’t be kissing him at all, let alone enjoying it so much. 

“No,” is all she says. He doesn’t seem satisfied. 

“Why?”

“Because I am engaged.” 

“That’s bullshit,” he laughs bitterly. “You forget that you are not the only one who can tell when the other is lying.” 

Sansa knows what to do. She should tell him that this time he’s got it wrong, that she’s indeed engaged, that she’s going to make things right with Harry, that soon she’s going to have a family of her own and that he - Jon - is only a sweet memory of her past. 

And yet, she just mutters a fuck it, pulls him by the jacket, and kisses him again.